«It means she's here. In Rio. I get it.» Mimi nodded. 'They sent us as far away as possible.»
«She's probably right under our nose,» Kingsley said. «In one of the most populous cities in the world.»
«Ten million people,» Mimi said. 'that's a lot.» Her heart began to sink just thinking about how many more dreams they would have to read, how many endless nights they would have to spend chasing shadows in the dark.
She watched Kingsley walk away from the table and over to the buffet, where the hotel had laid out a full breakfast: platters of cheese buns and salted biscuits; freshly cut papayas, mangoes, and watermelons. Bowls of avocado cream. Chafing dishes filled with slices of honey ham and crispy bacon.
He picked up a watermelon wedge and took a bite, standing in front of the full-length windows that had a panoramic view of the city. Mimi followed his gaze out to the clustered hillsides. The favelas were as crowded and structurally ingenious as ant farms, precariously towering over the cliffs, a Byzantine maze of ghettos housing Rio's urban poor.
«Amazing, aren't they? A city within a city, really,» Mimi said. «It's a wonder they all don't come crashing down during flood season.»
Kingsley put down the melon rind. 'The shanty towns . . . of course. The Silver Bloods have always been drawn to chaos and disorder. That's where we'll start.»
«Are you serious?» Mimi groaned. «No one goes there unless they have to.»
CHAPTER 9
Bliss
The Visitor was annoyed. Bliss felt his irritation like a blister. It was afternoon, as far as she could tell. The days slipped by one after the other so easily that it was hard to figure out what time it was, but Bliss tried to keep track as best she could. When he was quiet, it was night, and when she could sense his awareness, it was day.
Usually she would get a glimpse of the outside world when he woke up. Like yesterday morning, with the white shutters. Then the blinds would shut again. Only when he let his guard down was Bliss able to get a quick image of the outside world.
Like now, for the Visitor had been taken by surprise.
One minute they were striding through the house, and the next they were smack in the middle of a bunch of animals: grotesque and pitiful. Ugly.
What was this? What was she looking at? Then she realized she was seeing the world through his eyes. Only when she pushed herself a little harder did she see that they were just among an ordinary group of people. A lady wearing a beige suit and sunglasses was ushering a family through the foyer. They looked like the typical Hamptons crowd, Dad in a pastel alligator shirt with a white tennis sweater over his shoulders, Mom in lavender seersucker, the kids, two boys, in miniature versions of Dad's outfit.
«Oh, hello . . . I'm sorry. We were told the owners wouldn't be here for the showing,» the lady in the business suit said with a fake smile. «But since you're here, do you know if your father's contractor is still available to complete the renovation?»
Then it all went black and the image disappeared again, even though Bliss had been able to hear the question. Bobi Anne had been in the midst of renovating before she died. The Hamptons house was supposed to be completed by now, but when they returned from South America, Forsyth had ordered the construction ceased. The entire back half of the house was missing. In its place was a big hole in the ground covered in plaster dust, sawdust, and plastic.
The senator had returned to New York only to discover that he had been cleaned out in the latest financial upheaval. Some kind of Ponzi scheme, Bliss understood; a total scam. She wasn't sure, except that whatever it was, it had been enough to get Forsyth out of Conclave duties for a while. She couldn't quite tell what had happened, since it was around this time that the Visitor began to take over completely; but she had a feeling they were bankrupt.
Forsyth was trying to get a loan from the Committee to tide them over, but it would not be enough. His salary as a U.S. senator was trifling. The Llewellyns, like many Blue Blood families, lived on investment returns.
And apparently those investments were gone.
Which was probably the reason why there was a real estate agent at the house with her clients. Forsyth was selling the house. The thought didn't make Bliss very sad. They didn't spend so much time in the Hamptons that she would miss it. She had been much more despondent when they had left their home in Texas. She still missed that house sometimes: the way her two-level attic bedroom rested under the leaves of an old willow tree, afternoons spent reading on the porch swing, the old antique mirrors in the bathrooms that made everyone look a little bit mysterious and faerie.
The Visitor's been gone awhile, she thought, alone in the darkness. How long, she wasn't certain. It was hard to judge time when you weren't in the physical world anymore.
Bliss wasn't sure, but she thought that there was something different about the solitude. That she might be truly alone this time, and not just cast out of her body while the Visitor did god knows what. Usually she sensed his presence, but there had been times in the past when she was quite convinced she was completely alone. That it was only her inside her body, and the other had gone.
Could it be? Was she truly alone? Bliss felt an excitement rising in her chest.
There was nothing. The Visitor was gone, she could feel it. She was sure. She knew what she had to do. But she didn't know if she still could. Open the blinds. Open your eyes. Open them! Open! But where were they?
Disembodied. She truly understood the meaning of the word. It was like floating without an anchor. She had to get grounded again, to feel her way around until, yes'there it is, a crack of light, maybe she just imagined it?, but if she could just force it open – there!, just a little more . . .
Bliss opened her eyes slowly. She'd done it! She looked around. It was amazing to be able to see the world on her terms, and not how the Visitor saw it, through his hate-colored glasses. She was in the library.
A small cozy nook surrounded by walls of books. Her stepmother's decorator had insisted that all the «good homes» had one. Bobi Anne read magazines. Forsyth liked to stay in his den with his large-screen television. The library had become the sisters' territory.
Bliss remembered how she and Jordan would sit at the window seat, looking out at the pool and the ocean while they read. Bliss saw an old summer reading stack on a shelf next to the Victorian rolltop desk. The Brothers Karamazov. The Grapes of Wrath. Persuasion.
She thought she heard a noise. Whether it was from inside or out, she did not know. Close the blinds. Close your eyes, she thought frantically. Close them before he comes back.
She closed them.
Nothing. She was still alone.
She waited for a long time. Then she opened her eyes again. Nothing. She really was alone. She had to take advantage of this. Bliss had had a plan ever since she'd noticed his prolonged absences. She had to do something more than just look around. Dare she?
Her body felt sluggish and heavy. So heavy. This was going to be impossible. What if he came back?
What then? She had to try, she told herself. She had to do something. She couldn't just live like an invalid, in limbo, in paralysis. If I can open my eyes, I can do something else. I'm still Bliss Llewellyn, aren't I?
I've won tennis tournaments and run marathons. I can do this.
Move your hand. Move your hand.
Can't. Too heavy. Where is my hand? I have a hand? What is a hand? There. I can feel my five fingers, but they feel so far away, as if behind glass, or submerged underwater. She remembered seeing a magician on the Today show who had attempted to live underwater for several days. How immobilized and swollen he had looked.
She was no magician, but there was no reason to remain trapped underneath her own fear either. Move it. Move. Your. Hand. Oh God. It weighs three thousand pounds. I can't do it. I can't, I can't. But I have to.
Do it!
She remembered how hard it had been to learn the four-base pyramid scorpion, one of the most difficult moves in cheerleading. It required acute coordination and the skill of a trapeze artist. Bliss was the only cheerleader on the team who could do it. She remembered how scared she had been the first time. If she didn't connect with the base's hands on the way up, she would fall; if she missed the back spotter on the extension, she would fall; if she didn't balance correctly on her left foot, she would fall.
But she would connect with the base, hit her mark, stand with her right leg bent back above her head, and hold the pose until she was thrown upward in a triple-somersault pop-flick to land on her feet.
Too bad Duchesne didn't have a squad. Bliss had tried to start one, but no one was interested. Snobs! They didn't know what they were missing. The feeling of the night of a big game. The anticipation of the crowd. The thrill of running out on the field, pom-poms bouncing, the roar from the stands, the jealousy and the admiration. On Fridays, cheerleaders were allowed to wear their uniforms to class. It was akin to wearing a crown. The scorpion.
She'd nailed it.
If I could do that, I can do this, she told herself.
Move. Your. Hand! She could feel her bangs in her face. The Visitor had not bothered with haircuts, or manicures either. Bliss was annoyed. All that work to look cute gone down the drain. Her hair was wild and untamed, rough to the touch. She had to do something about it.
There. Urrrgh! Her hand jerked away, moving like a marionette, like a puppet on strings. But she'd done it. Her hand awkwardly brushed her hair, moved it away from her eyes.